


Band-Aids Aren't Really Applicable Here

by SolarMorrigan



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fenton is stubborn and accident-prone, Gen, Gyro is stubborn and bad at feelings, Gyro swears a lot you can't convince me otherwise, Non-Graphic Description of Injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Superhero problems, because author is lazy, god so many tropes, this was kind of intended as preslash but it works perfectly well as friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera is an irritation, a distraction, and a cause for concern that Gyro doesn't know how to deal with, but a genius like him should be able to figure it out.(Right?)





	Band-Aids Aren't Really Applicable Here

**Author's Note:**

> *stumbles into the fandom with 10,000 words of superhero fic tropes scraped together from the Avengers fandom circa 2012* So this happened
> 
> I swear, this didn't start out as an excuse to gratuitously injure Fenton, but that's kinda what happened anyway. This is the first big thing I've written for this fandom and my characterization might be a little shaky, but I did have fun writing this, so I hope someone out there has a good time reading it!
> 
> (I'll be honest, I did humanization just because I didn't want to navigate the whole nose/mouth vs. beaks or how bruises work with feathers thing. I'm pretty sure the only thing that noticeably changes is that Gizmoduck became Gizmoman (because it's okay to have a bunch of bird-themed names, but a bird-themed superhero outfit is just silly, apparently??))

It was fifteen past the hour when the elevator doors opened, giving way to the panicked patter of feet and the conspicuous metallic clanking of a duffle bag.

“You’re late,” Gyro said, without so much as glancing up from his desk.

“I know, I’m sorry Dr. Gearloose, I just had to stop first and then there were so many _choices_ and I asked the clerk for help, but I think she got the wrong idea _entirely_ and it – it was just kind of a mess,” Cabrera’s words came spilling out in the usual pitchy rush, underscored by the clunk of the Gizmosuit being stored by his desk.

The explanation clarified exactly nothing, and Gyro looked up in time to see Cabrera upend a plastic bag with a drugstore logo on it over his desk, spilling a frankly alarming array of cosmetic products across the surface.

“What in god’s name are you…” the rest of Gyro’s question died on his tongue when he finally looked up to Cabrera’s face; there were livid, purple-red bruises smudged firmly across the tops of his cheeks, underlining his eyes and giving him the look of having been sucker-punched – twice. The overall affect was somewhat alarming, leading Gyro to demand, with possibly even less tact than he usually possessed, “What the hell happened to your _face_ , Cabrera?”

“It was just a little incident yesterday, as Gizmoman, I mean – my reflexes just weren’t quite quick enough, and I didn’t get my head down in time before one of those oversized hooligans got me right in the face,” Cabrera mimed a flat-palmed jab aimed at his forehead with a nervous chuckle. “The helmet more than adequately protected my head, but the visor sort of got jammed in under my eyes. But the glass did hold up really well! Which I appreciate, because I greatly value my eyes not… being full of glass.”

Whatever else Cabrera said washed over Gyro like static, his thoughts already whirring miles ahead of the conversation. That shouldn’t have happened – the helmet was meant to be perfectly fitted, at first to allow for optimal use of the suit and later for greater protection of the wearer; the visor was meant to be snug against Cabrera’s face, but there oughtn’t have been enough give for it to move and damage him. But there was, obviously, and that had to be fixed. Could Gyro refit the helmet, make it more difficult to move around? Could he attach the helmet to the neckpiece in order to keep it from having so much give – would that impede maneuverability? Could he possibly just add padding to the bottom of the visor, without interfering with visibility?

“What’s the extent of your injuries?” Gyro asked, thinking nothing of invading Cabrera’s space to place a hand under his chin and tilt his head up, getting a better look at the bruises.

Cabrera jumped at the sudden contact, twitching as if he meant to pull away, but stilling himself. “Oh, uh – really, I’m fine, Dr. Gearloose.”

Gyro tsked. “I’m not asking after your _health_. I want to know the sort of damage done so I know how to modify the suit.”

“Oh – that… makes more sense. Yes,” Cabrera half nodded, allowing Gyro to tilt his head this way and that to examine the extent of the damage. “It’s just deep bruising, no fractures so far as I could tell.”

“As far as you could tell?” Gyro cocked an eyebrow. “Weren’t you seen by a doctor?”

“Well, no, I couldn’t– I mean the injury seemed a little conspicuous and I’m frankly kind of a terrible liar and I didn’t want anyone to ask what it was from, so I just found some internet articles.” Cabrera shrugged awkwardly when Gyro released him with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, yes, because the internet is a reliable source of information,” Gyro snipped. “Do you want to see one of the Money Bin’s doctors?”

“I–” Cabrera paused, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“Mr. McDuck started keeping a few trusted medical professionals on site after various… incidents.” Mostly incidents that had involved Gyro, though he saw no need to mention that. “They’re discrete, and they’ve learned not to ask how most injuries occurred, particularly where R&D staff are concerned. You can see one of them, and they can give me a more informed opinion.”

“I’m – really I’m fine, Dr. Gearloose. But thank you,” Cabrera stuttered, turning back to the pile of cosmetics on his desk, sifting through the various tubes and bottles.

“Hm. And what is this mess?” Gyro gestured vaguely at Cabrera’s desk.

“Oh, uh – I thought I’d better get something to cover up the bruises. Since they’re kind of, well, conspicuous. There were just so many options and none of the ones called “concealer” even looked like they would cover anything, they were all weird colors and I’m not familiar with color theory so I had to ask the clerk and then she thought someone had, uh – had hit me, which was… _awkward_.”

“Someone did hit you.”

“Right, yes, but she thought, you know – someone was… _hitting_ me?”

The full meaning dawned on Gyro, causing a flutter of distaste in his gut. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Cabrera cleared his throat. “I told her I was mugged. I don’t think she believed me, and she kept offering to call someone for me, which is why it took me so long to get out of there. I mean, that was very kind of her, but she definitely had the wrong end of the stick, which I think is probably another good reason to cover this all up, and she was very helpful with the whole… makeup thing. Since I was already running late, though, I brought it all here. I just – I just need a few minutes to figure it out.”

“Fine, fine,” Gyro waved his hand, hoping to forestall anymore babble from Cabrera. “I’ll just work on the helmet with the _limited_ information you’ve given me. And when you finish with– whatever it is you’re going to do with all that, I’ve left a file on your desk for you to look over. If you can find it under that mess.”

Cabrera nodded, quickly gathering up the tubes and bottles on his desk and cradling them against his chest to carry. Why he didn’t just put them back in the bag he’d brought them in, Gyro had no idea. “Sure thing, Dr. Gearloose. Shouldn’t take me long – how hard can it be?”

Gyro hummed, disinterested, and dug into the duffle bag by Cabrera’s desk to pull out the Gizmosuit’s helmet. “Cabrera?” Gyro called, just before Cabrera made it into the hallway.

“Yes, Dr. Gearloose?”

“Next time, tell me when there’s a problem with the suit, so I can address it _before_ you damage yourself. I want to minimize the number of on-the-fly fixes I have to do.”

There was an odd tilt to Cabrera’s mouth, something that seemed like it wanted to be a smile, when he answered, “Yes, Dr. Gearloose.”

(It took Cabrera over half an hour to come back from the bathroom, looking more harried than when he left and with poorly-matched makeup rather obviously applied over his bruises, but Gyro said nothing. Some corner of his brain not dedicated to the Gizmosuit issue, however, began turning over the idea of an automatic makeup applicator – a perfect face every time.)

-/-/-

One thing Gyro had decided about Cabrera very, very quickly, when he had first hired him on as an intern, was that he was one of the clumsiest people Gyro had ever had the displeasure of being near (and that _was_ taking Launchpad into consideration) and that he was not to be allowed near anything particularly fragile or expensive.

That opinion had not changed with time.

“What did I say about _thinking_?” Gyro snapped as he banged the first aid kit down on his desk.

“I _was_ thinking,” Cabrera glared from his spot by the sink, though he subsided quickly under the force of Gyro’s superior glower. “But… I was mostly thinking “four AM, time for more coffee.””

Gyro huffed, throwing the lid of the kit open and reaching for the well-used burn ointment. They’d probably need to get more soon. “How long have you been running that under water?”

“Uh,” Cabrera glanced up at the clock on the wall—37 minutes slow exactly, due to interference from some project or another, but it kept time perfectly well otherwise—then looked back down at his hand, a bright and irritated pink under the cool water, “about 10 minutes.”

“10 more minutes, then. I guess I’ll just clean this up in the meantime,” Gyro snipped, gesturing sharply to the splash of coffee and shattered glass on the floor by the counter.

“You don’t have to, Dr. Gearloose, it’s my mess. I’ll just – uh, I’ll just get to it as soon as I get the burn taken care of,” Cabrera insisted.

Gyro had already snatched the broom and dustpan from the corner – it was more convenient not to store them in the closet, considering how frequently they were needed. “And I’ll just, what? Walk around a pile of broken glass and hot coffee in the meantime? That’s stupid, I have the time to clean it up, so I will.”

Cabrera opened his mouth, as if to refute Gyro’s argument, but instead just sighed and went back to turning his hand under the stream from the faucet. Gyro nodded his satisfaction and went about sweeping up the broken glass from Cabrera’s disaster of coffee run.

Wherever Cabrera’s head had been, Gyro doubted it had been on the coffee; he’d managed to fill about half his cup before his aim had drifted and poured fresh, scalding coffee all over the hand holding his mug. He’d dropped the mug in pain, then dropped the coffee pot when he’d missed the counter in his haste to put it down. The entire fiasco had taken perhaps 30 seconds and had ended with Cabrera stationed by the sink, running his burned hand under cool water, while Gyro banged around the lab looking for their misplaced first aid kit (he’d finally found it in the bathroom, where it had ended up after Gyro’s last migraine; he vaguely remembered riding out the nausea on the bathroom floor while Cabrera dug through the first aid kit in search of ibuprofen, and supposed the kit had just stayed there).

At the ten-minute mark, the glass had been disposed of and coffee mostly mopped up off the floor; Lil’ Bulb was tending to the last of it, though the little bot was throwing its own equivalent of a glare at Gyro now and then. Lil’ Bulb could just suck it up, Gyro decided; it was four AM, there was no coffee, and everyone was unhappy.

“I really am sorry about all the fuss,” Cabrera said when Gyro directed him over to his desk, where the light was less murky.

““Sorry” doesn’t make it not have happened,” Gyro replied, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Don’t do it again.”

“Right,” Cabrera nodded quickly, offering up his hand when Gyro held out his own.

Treating a burn was practically rote at this point; Gyro applied the burn cream on autopilot, paying Cabrera’s little winces barely any mind, but attempting to keep his fingers light all the same. Gauze came next, a little awkwardly wrapped considering the location, but acceptably done if Gyro did say so himself.

“There,” Gyro declared, disposing of his gloves and packing the kit away. “now if you get some sort of infection, it won’t be my fault.”

Oddly, Cabrera laughed at that, snorting a little when he tried to stifle it. “I,” he paused, giving one last hysterical sort of giggle, “I don’t suppose there’s a coffee shop open anywhere at four AM?”

“Cabrera, I wouldn’t trust you to walk across the street at this point,” Gyro said bluntly. “Call a cab, go home, get some sleep.”

“Well…”

“ _Go._ ”

“Alright,” Cabrera put up one hand in surrender, his injured one staying at his side. “Will you be going home soon, too?”

“Maybe,” Gyro shrugged, turning back to his desk. “I have things to do.”

Cabrera hummed, apparently unconvinced by Gyro’s answer, but said nothing. He hissed when he attempted to reach for his bag with his bandaged hand, switching at the last moment and shouldering it awkwardly. Gyro rolled his eyes.

“Try and get some sleep at some point, Dr. Gearloose. I’ll see you later!” Cabrera called as he headed out of the lab, phone already cradled against his ear.

Gyro waved him off with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe I let that klutz pilot a technologically advanced, _weaponized_ suit of armor,” he muttered.

A moment passed, and Gyro froze as the thought fully sank in.

Cabrera, who kept damaging himself, who found ways to damage himself _while inside a highly advanced suit of armor_ , who was one of the most accident-prone people Gyro had ever been around, was in charge of–

What in the hell had Mr. McDuck been _thinking_ , making Cabrera goddamned _Gizmoman_?

This could only end badly.

-/-/-

Even on nights when Gyro did decide to go home at a reasonable hour, it seemed as though rest was ever elusive. He’d been deeply asleep for the first time in what felt like days when his phone went off.

Gyro managed to ignore two phone calls, his head shoved under a pillow while his cell buzzed irritatingly on his nightstand, but the third call that came through illustrated he wouldn’t be able to go on that way. He had no earthly idea what time it was, nor who would possibly be calling him so insistently, but he intended on giving them the full brunt of his irritation.

“ _What_.” He snarled, letting his head thump back against the pillow.

(Alright, he was still mostly asleep; he would give them the full brunt of his irritation when he could articulate full sentences.)

“ _Dr. Gearloose! Thank goodness, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you!_ ” Cabrera’s voice came through the receiver.

Gyro had half a mind to hang up.

“ _Please don’t hang up!_ ” Cabrera begged, startling Gyro enough that he stayed on the line. “ _I’m sorry for disturbing you, I know you don’t get home very often, it’s just. I really need your help._ ”

“Obviously,” Gyro drawled. “This had better be good.”

“ _It isn’t,_ ” Cabrera groaned. “ _I mean, it’s a good reason to bother you, but what’s happened isn’t… good._ ”

“Spit it out, Cabrera, or I _will_ hang up.”

“ _I’m kind of stuck in the suit and I need your help getting out!_ ”

Gyro blinked. He wondered if he dared ask for clarification.

In the end, he simply sighed. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Try not to break anything _else_ before then,” he snapped, barely hearing Cabrera’s stumbling “thank you” before he hung up.

-/-/-

“ _What,_ in the name of all things holy and electrical, did you _do?_ ” Gyro demanded upon catching sight of the Gizmosuit.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Cabrera hedged, looking as contrite as one possibly could in a hulking suit of technological armor; Gyro had the impression he would have been tapping his fingers together nervously if one of the shoulders of the suit hadn’t been partially crushed. “It involved three cars, a sledgehammer, and a bounce house. Duckburg’s criminals have been becoming increasingly clever since Gizmoman started patrolling the streets.”

Gyro stared for a moment, trying to gauge how serious Cabrera was behind the visor.

“I, uh… I think the suit’s joints need some reinforcement,” Cabrera continued.

Finally, Gyro jerked out of his irritated stupor. “Oh, you _think_?”

“To be fair, it wasn’t really built to–”

“Never mind. Let’s just– can you– be _shorter_ somehow?” Gyro attempted to get a good look at the damaged joint, only to be thwarted by the near foot of height the suit had over him. “How is one bad shoulder keeping you stuck in the _entire_ suit, anyway?”

“Ah, well, the joint is kind of crushed around my arm, and I’m worried if I disassemble the suit, it’ll try to take my arm with it,” Cabrera explained earnestly.

“Crushed around your–” Gyro blanched. “Why are you just standing here _talking_ , then? Christ on a stick, just sit down or something!”

Slowly, likely making liberal use of the suit’s internal gyroscope (and, oh, it had given Gyro great pleasure to be able to include that in the design), Cabrera lowered himself to the floor, sitting in an awkward hunch with the suit’s wheel balanced on its edge in front of him.

“It doesn’t really hurt much,” Cabrera said, “Probably just caused some bruising.”

“You’re not allowed to be the judge of how much you’re hurt anymore,” Gyro barked, even as he bent in to inspect the extent of the damage. “You’re _bad_ at it.”

“How can I be _bad_ at it?” Cabrera waved his good arm in frustration, nearly taking himself off balance. “It’s _my_ body!”

“Don’t care. Once I get the suit off you, you’re going to one of the Bin’s doctors so they can tell you how badly you fucked up,” Gyro declared.

“I didn’t–”

“Nope! Nope, don’t wanna hear it! Mr. McDuck wants Duckburg’s defender in top condition, and I guess that means the suit _and_ you,” Gyro pushed away from Cabrera to grab for the toolkit at his workstation. “He’ll have my head if I let you walk around with– I don’t know, a dislocated arm, or whatever it is you’ve got going on in there.”

Cabrera huffed. “I’m pretty sure I’d know if I dislocated my arm, Gyro,” oh, and there was the first name – it only happened when one or both of them was very tired, or when Cabrera was well on his way to done with everything; Gyro wasn’t sure which it was in this case, and didn’t particularly care.

“Don’t care. You’re going,” Gyro said, poking around his desk and wondering if a crowbar would get the job done without taking Cabrera’s arm off.

“Y’know, you’re pretty insistent on a doctor for a guy I once saw try to kill a migraine by swallowing caffeine pills and ice cubes,” Cabrera said, voice gone peevish across the room.

That hadn’t been one of Gyro’s finer moments, he would admit; it had made more sense in the midst of the headache. “We don’t speak of that night, Cabrera,” Gyro snapped. “Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Cabrera fell obligingly, suspiciously quiet.

When Gyro glanced over his shoulder, there was a satisfied little smirk on Cabrera’s face, as if he’d proved some sort of point; Gyro decided he would absolutely enjoy dragging Cabrera up to the doctor, kicking and screaming.

Vindictively, he hoped they needed a blood sample.

-/-/-

Leaving the news on had been a mistake.

This was what happened when Gyro tried to multitask.

He and Cabrera had only been running diagnostics on the suit, checking over each system before putting it back online, and Gyro hadn’t seen much harm in letting the local news run in the background while they did so; he liked to at least tune in to whatever was going on in Duckburg every few days, for the little gadget ideas it gave him, if nothing else.

That had all been well and good until a banner declaring “BREAKING NEWS” had overtaken the screen before Roxanne Featherly had appeared, talking about a fire raging in an apartment building in downtown Duckburg.

“Blathering Blatherskite!”

The suit jerked itself from the wires connecting it to the computer and sprang from the table, assembling itself around Cabrera before Gyro could so much as open his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing, Cabrera?” Gyro demanded.

Cabrera gaped at him. “You saw the news. There’s a fire, people are in danger!”

“We’re in the middle of running tests! Half the suit’s systems are still offline!” Gyro waved one of the disconnected wires irately.

“Will it still run?”

“Obviously it will, you’re wearing it, but–”

“Then I’m going!”

Gyro didn’t even get another word in before Cabrera was speeding for the above-ground exit.

“Cabrera! You get right the fuck back here!”

Unsurprisingly, Cabrera paid him no mind. Gyro was still seething moments later when the elevator doors opened, emitting Manny with a tray of three coffees.

Manny paused, turning to look around the room before tapping a message out on the floor. _What did I miss?_

Gyro didn’t miss a beat. “Manny, get the address of the apartment fire going on downtown,” he ordered. “We have an idiot to catch.”

-/-/-

By the time Manny and Gyro arrived at the scene of the fire, it seemed the most dramatic part was over. Whatever other systems had still been offline when Cabrera took off with the suit, he’d obviously been able to activate the fire suppressants – there was white foam everywhere, most of it protruding out of the windows of the bottom two floors of the building.

Firefighters were still combating the dying flames on higher floors, but the panic had mostly died out. There were smoke-smudged onlookers, staring up at the building with a particular kind of desolation that came with watching their homes go up in flames, and a few more being treated for what was probably smoke inhalation, but what drew Gyro’s attention were the gawkers at the edges of the crowd, pointing and whispering about _Gizmoman_.

Cabrera was nowhere in sight.

“You!” Gyro demanded the attention of the nearest bystander. “You saw Gizmoman?”

The bystander nodded eagerly, pointing up to the top story of the building. “Yeah! Yeah, he’s still in there, there was someone left inside!”

Gyro and Manny both turned to look, but it was impossible to make heads or tails of what was going on inside; smoke was still rolling out of the shattered windows, underscored by tongues of the dying fire. Modifications to the Gizmosuit were flying through Gyro’s head—increased amount of extinguishing agent, self-contained oxygen supply, better cooling system—when he finally spotted movement, jarring him from his frantic thoughts.

Cabrera – _Gizmoman_ burst from a top floor balcony, someone cradled carefully in his arms as he used the propeller cap to descend. At least _that_ had come back online, Gyro thought distantly.

As soon as he touched the ground, Cabrera handed his charge off to two waiting paramedics, waving off a third with a shaky grin that reeked of false bravado. Something was definitely wrong. Gyro was prepared to march over and demand what it was, regardless of the possible witnesses still rubbernecking from behind the yellow tape, when part of the building fell in, obscuring everyone’s vision with embers and rubble.

It was only because he was really looking that Gyro noticed the Gizmosuit disappearing into an alley a few buildings over, just catching a glimpse through the cloud of debris. He was moving towards the same alley before he even realized it, shoving his way carelessly through the crowd and leaving Manny to make apologies in his wake (no one much seemed to understand he was apologizing, too caught up in the strangeness of a sort-of headless horse on two legs in a lab coat, but Gyro supposed not everyone could appreciate Manny).

Cabrera was at the far end of the alley when Gyro got there, attempting to disassemble the armor with the passcode, but was unable to get much further than the first “blather” before interrupting himself with a series of harsh coughs.

The filtration system hadn’t come back online, Gyro realized.

Who knew how much smoke Cabrera had inhaled, in and out of a burning building, putting out the fire and evacuating civilians?

Something very like fear sizzled in the pit of Gyro’s stomach as he listened to Cabrera cough.

“ _What_ in the absolute _hell_ were you _thinking_?” Gyro hissed, stalking down to the end of the alley.

“I c-couldn’t–” Cabrera stuttered around another few coughs, “let people get hurt.”

“You imbecile! Running off, half-cocked, no idea which parts of the suit were working, you– you could’ve–” Gyro spluttered, _afraid_ , but uncertain of _what_. “You could’ve damaged the suit!”

Though most of the Cabrera’s face remained hidden by the visor, the disappointment and irritation were palpable in his frown. “I h-had to help!”

Gyro huffed, rolling his eyes while Cabrera attempted to deactivate the suit once more; his voice rasped uneasily around the words until Gyro interrupted.

“Blathering blatherskite,” he snapped, the suit responding as easily to his voice as to Cabrera’s and powering down.

“Th-thanks,” Cabrera sighed.

“Don’t thank me. I’m not through with you yet,” Gyro said sharply. “Manny, bring the car around.”

Despite his incensed promise, the only thing Gyro did while Manny went for the car was begin to gather up the pieces of the Gizmosuit. He waved Cabrera off irritably when he tried to help, telling him to stop moving before he keeled over.

When Manny pulled the car around to the mouth of the alley, they bundled armor quickly into the backseat and sped off for the Money Bin in silence, save for Cabrera’s continued coughing.

-/-/-

It seemed as though Lil’ Bulb had grown almost fond of Cabrera when Gyro wasn’t looking. It was sitting beside Cabrera now, fiddling with strands of his hair while he slept.

“You’re going to wake him up,” Gyro muttered, scooping the little bot up and paying no heed to the grabby hands it made as it was tugged away.

Cabrera, after having been seen to by one of the Bin’s doctors and being administered oxygen for smoke inhalation, had passed out on the chaise lounge that Gyro couldn’t actually remember putting in the lab and had been sleeping there for hours now. Gyro could have woken him ages ago, could have sent him home to rest in a real bed, told him not to come back the next day (he didn’t have the power to fire Cabrera anymore—and, truthfully, the urge to do so had lessened considerably over time—but if Mr. McDuck asked, Gyro could claim doctor’s orders without even really lying) – instead, he let Cabrera sleep on while he finished diagnostics on the Gizmosuit.

Gyro deposited Lil’ Bulb on his desk, picked up the tablet that kept running stats on the systems checks, sat down, and found himself staring back over at Cabrera on the chaise. Unease was still stirring in his chest, only magnified by the fact that Gyro couldn’t discern its source.

He _was_ worried about the suit—he always worried about his inventions—but that same feeling directed at anything else was unfamiliar, and it was making him anxious. Cabrera’s presence seemed to ease him and compound the feeling at the same time, and Gyro was still trying to wrap his head around _why_.

The brief scrape of a hoof on the floor, a sound they’d all begun to equate with Manny clearing his throat, jarred Gyro from his thoughts.

 _How’s the suit?_ Manny asked, when Gyro looked over at him.

If Gyro didn’t know any better (and if it weren’t physically impossible), he’d have said there was a sort of knowing glint to Manny’s eyes.

“The suit’s fine,” Gyro huffed, looking stubbornly back down at his tablet. “Don’t you have stuff to clean?”

As Manny wandered off again, the clip of his hooves on the floor sounded somehow amused, and Gyro decided he probably needed more sleep.

-/-/-

“Remember how I said Duckburg’s criminals are getting cleverer?” Cabrera asked, voice going a bit funny in the middle as he ducked something Gyro couldn’t see. “This is definitely one of those cases.”

“Then _focus_ , Cabrera,” Gyro snapped. “I’m not into the security feed yet, and I’m not going to watch your back.”

“I _am_ focused,” Cabrera argued. “I’m very focused on this guy and his automated grappling hook of impending injury.”

“His _what_?” Gyro muttered, moments before he gained access to the surveillance footage of the bank Gizmoman was currently protecting from being robbed. “Oh.”

There was, indeed, a man wielding what appeared to be some sort of mechanized grappling hook; it didn’t seem particularly threatening until he turned and fired it at Cabrera – at Gizmoman, who dodged the hook, which embedded itself neatly in the solid metal of the safe door. The prospective bank robber then yanked it free with a shriek of metal that Gyro heard over the communication link through the suit.

“Less of a grappling hook, more of a grabber of some kind,” Gyro mused distractedly, watching was the hook wound itself back up.

“Whatever it is, I don’t like the look of it,” Cabrera hissed. “I need to take this guy out. How are you doing on locking things down?”

Gyro tore his attention from the camera feed and checked his progress. “Working perfectly, just like I said it would.”

It was a new angle they were trying; so many criminals were relying now on outside help – everything from getaway drivers on call to long-distance hackers. Gyro had volunteered (“When I have the _time_ , I suppose”) to block out any kind of outside communication until the police arrived or Gizmoman took care of the problem. His own link to the suit and surveillance systems was meant to be the only thing that survived. Eventually, they hoped to simply install a jammer in the suit, but until then Gyro couldn’t deny the little thrill that came of playing a slightly more active role in the world of superheroes and villains.

“Well, at least one thing is going smoothly,” Cabrera sounded a bit winded on the other end of the line.

“C’mon, _Gizmoman_. This guy’s a two-bit gangster with a fancy gun, you can take him down easily. Or my suit can, at least,” Gyro teased.

Cabrera gave a startled little laugh. “Careful, Doctor,” he snarked back, using the placeholder codename he kept threatening to replace with something more inventive. “that was very nearly complimentary.”

Gyro stifled a tiny smile; taking away the inherent risk of bodily harm and ever-present possibility of failure, this was almost _fun_. “Well, I–” Gyro began, only for his voice to die in his throat as a flurry of activity unfurled onscreen.

The robber shot for an errant security guard, still somehow onsite and looking to play hero. Gizmoman lunged, shoving the guard out of the way just in time. The hook latched onto the suit’s arm, digging into the bicep. The robber _yanked_.

Gyro knew that the sound Cabrera made then was going to haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

-/-/-

What had ensued following the robber’s lucky (unlucky) shot was nothing short of a panicked scramble.

Gizmoman had taken the robber out in short order, more brutal than Cabrera would normally have been, while he operated on blind pain and desperation to take the hook out of the equation. Gyro had thrown communications back online, frantic to get a message to first responders – immediate medical attention required. He’d contacted Mr. McDuck as an afterthought; his boss would need to work his magic with the hospital again, so as to keep Cabrera out of the records.

Everything after that came in a sort of blur.

Whatever Mr. McDuck had done had been effective; Cabrera had been shipped off to the hospital and the suit was returned to the lab, everything discrete and efficient. Gyro catalogued and examined the suit himself, finding most of it undamaged; only when he got to the left arm did his stomach give a sick lurch. There were three holes, punctures that went straight through the armor and had punched into Cabrera’s arm beneath; the suit had probably stopped the hook from running Cabrera’s arm through entirely. There was strain on the joint from the way it had been jerked.

There was an _alarming_ amount of blood inside the arm.

Part of Gyro’s mind whirred with ideas for extreme stain removal, for the safe sanitization of biohazardous materials; another part piped up with the most violent ways he could dispose of whatever was left of the criminal who had done this.

In the end, Gyro passed the arm off to Manny for disposal. For once, he didn’t feel like starting a new project; he could just build a new arm – it wasn’t like he didn’t have the plans and materials for it.

The thought of actually repairing the suit and sticking Cabrera back in it, however, was distasteful in the extreme.

Gyro had _known_ this would end badly. Cabrera was lucky he hadn’t lost his arm entirely, and yet he would be chomping at the bit to get back in the suit and go back out there and do it all again. Get hurt again. Possibly get hurt even worse. Maybe be killed.

And he would do it, because that was the sort of person Cabrera was: selfless and entirely without forethought or consideration of possible consequences.

Cabrera would keep going out there (in something Gyro had invented, in one of the few things he’d managed that hadn’t turned out evil – except it was still hurting someone, so how good was it, really?) until he was physically incapable, unless someone stopped him.

Unless Gyro stopped him.

-/-/-

It was a week before Cabrera returned to work. He looked good, considering his arm had been punctured in three different places and then dislocated. The only signs anything had happened at all were the remaining dark circles beneath his eyes (although, weren’t interns and lab assistants _always_ tired?) and the sling his arm was resting in.

The sling had been heavily decorated in what appeared to be permanent marker, and Cabrera gave a smile that was somehow at once sheepish and fond when he caught Gyro looking. “Huey, Dewey, and Launchpad came to visit me while I was still in the hospital. Dewey said my sling was boring and Huey had a few markers, so…” Cabrera gestured with his good arm to the sling.

Ah, yes; Gyro had nearly forgotten that two of Mr. McDuck’s nephews and his driver knew Cabrera’s identity as Gizmoman. Frankly, that was already too many people.

“I see,” Gyro said, noncommittal.

“I, uh… I know you were really too busy to come visit or anything, but I wanted to thank you for staying on the line with me. Until help arrived. It was nice to have someone familiar there, even in voice,” Cabrera was still smiling at Gyro, all earnest gratitude, and Gyro had to look back down at his work.

Because Gyro _hadn’t_ gone by the hospital to visit. And he’d closed the line of communication off as soon as Cabrera indicated that medics had come. And he couldn’t quite look at Cabrera yet without remembering how he’d screamed.

“Don’t mention it,” Gyro said.

Cabrera prattled on, blithely rearranging all the papers and spare parts that had accumulated on his desk in his absence. “I guess it’s a good thing we did all that work reinforcing the joints on the Gizmosuit, too. I really don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if–”

“Then don’t,” Gyro cut in sharply.

Cabrera blinked over at Gyro, his smile fading. “Are you okay, Gyro?”

He wasn’t, really. Gyro wasn’t used to worrying about other people and, unsure of how to deal with the anxiety, he did what he usually did and took to his work. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep in nearly a week, and he wasn’t actually sure how long it had been since he’d eaten a real meal. His body might’ve given out days ago if Lil’ Bulb hadn’t continued pushing sports drinks and nutrition shakes at him. The constant pace was beginning to wear on Gyro, but he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“I’m fine,” Gyro snapped. “And it’s _Dr. Gearloose_.”

Cabrera looked stricken. “Oh. I – I thought that… well,” he shook his head. “Um. Alright. Well, I had a lot of free time in the last few days, and I had some ideas on how we might improve the Gizmosuit.”

“Save them. Your input is no longer required on that project.”

“I– what?”

“You’re too danger-prone to be operating the Gizmosuit,” Gyro said, words weighted and blunt, “so you won’t be doing it anymore.”

The dawning look of alarm on Cabrera’s face might’ve been satisfying a few months ago. Now Gyro just wished Cabrera would _for once_ accept a situation and move on.

“You – Gy– Dr. Gearloose, you can’t do that!” Cabrera spluttered.

“I can and I am.” Technically Cabrera was right – Gyro didn’t have clearance to put the project on hold, but he was figuring it out as he went.

Something had to be done, after all, and if no one else would do it, Gyro would.

“Mr. McDuck said the city needs a hero,” Cabrera insisted. “He picked _me_.”

“He’ll pick someone _else_. Maybe someone less likely to get themselves killed,” Gyro barked.

“So– so, what? I’m just fired again? You’re dumping me after _everything_?” Cabrera demanded.

“You’re not fired,” Gyro was quick to inform. “You’ll still be allowed to help with things around the lab, where it’s easier to minimize your damage.”

Cabrera was quiet. Usually, a break in chatter was a good thing, but in this case Gyro wasn’t sure.

“You’re… you’re really just going to take this from me?” Cabrera asked after a long moment.

Gyro frowned. He was trying to do the right thing – the thing that wouldn’t get Cabrera killed. This was the thanks he got? “Well, it wasn’t really _yours_ to begin with, was it? Can’t take something that’s not yours.”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say; Cabrera’s expression turned stormy, the same determined set of features Gyro had seen the few times he and Cabrera had really argued. The way he was shifting his arm slowly in his sling was all Gyro needed to see to deduce Cabrera’s next move.

“Blath–”

“Don’t bother,” Gyro cut in. “You think you can get me with the same trick twice? I changed the vocal authorization. It won’t respond to you anymore.”

Cabrera was left with his mouth hanging open, mid-passcode. “I…”

“If you still want your job here, I left some schematics to look over on your desk,” Gyro said, looking back down to his own work, stubbornly projecting that he didn’t care either way.

There were another few moments of silence.

“I’m taking my break,” Cabrera ground out.

He had barely been there for 15 minutes, but Gyro didn’t say anything as Cabrera stormed from the lab.

-/-/-

Things were different around the lab.

Bad different.

God help him, Gyro missed the way things had been before.

There used to be a fresh cup of coffee for him exactly when he wanted one, and Cabrera used to smile at him when he looked up to see where the coffee had come from.

Gyro got his own coffee now.

(Or, more often, would mean to get up and get coffee but would get distracted and only remember an hour later that he’d meant to get up for coffee).

There was no more idle chatter during the day. When Cabrera had moved out of the bathroom and into the main lab, he had brought all manner of noise with him – he talked to Gyro and Lil’ Bulb and Manny, he muttered to himself, he hummed; even the sound of another person just working in the same space as Gyro was unfamiliar, and it had all driven him up the wall at the start of things. He didn’t realize until it had stopped that he’d fully incorporated all the sounds into his work process. It functioned almost like white noise, and now that it was gone, things felt uncomfortably quiet.

Gyro considered all manner of noise-making inventions, somewhere in the part of his brain itching with the restless silence; he even considered opening a damned white noise app on his phone (but didn’t, because he wasn’t about to admit that he was bothered).

Cabrera didn’t bring leftovers from home, claiming he or his mother had made too much before dropping the container on Gyro’s desk and shuffling awkwardly away. He didn’t tell his stupid science jokes and grin to himself when Gyro and Manny made noises of displeasure at the terrible punchline. He didn’t bother Gyro with new ideas, invention doodles, or painstakingly sketched blueprints for things that would likely never come into being. Cabrera didn’t do anything but act as the consummate assistant – the sort of person Gyro had wanted in his lab from the beginning.

But apparently, in order to be the consummate assistant, Cabrera had to stop being… Cabrera.

Gyro didn’t want to miss it, but he did. Worse, he didn’t know how to get it back.

Cabrera was upset about the loss of his position as Gizmoman, that much was clear, but if the only way to make him act like himself again was to hand over the suit, then Gyro supposed they were both out of luck.

But that was fine. At least this way, Cabrera wasn’t out there getting himself killed in the name of “justice” or “public safety” or whatever other idiotic values he was supposed to be upholding.

This way was safer and, for once, Gyro was sticking to it.

-/-/-

Gyro was awake this time, when his phone began to ring. He’d been pulling another late night, sitting up at home trying to figure out how to replace Cabrera before his arm fully healed and Mr. McDuck had reason to be suspicious that Gizmoman wasn’t out and about. Preferably the replacement would be someone (something?) Gyro wouldn’t somehow grow attached to. Someone he could afford to lose.

He was prepared to ignore the phone call—hardly anyone called him, it was probably another recording trying to sell him something—but the number gave him pause.

Cabrera was calling him.

Cabrera hadn’t called him since before his injury, not even for trivial, non-Gizmoman related things.

Gyro answered his phone.

“Hello?”

“ _Gyro. Hey, are– are you busy?_ ” Cabrera’s voice sounded odd, wavering and almost weak.

“Why?” Gyro asked, suddenly set on edge.

“ _I need a ride._ ”

“You know I hate driving,” Gyro said immediately, before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his computer screen, since Cabrera wasn’t there to glare at. “Are you _drunk_?”

A short little laugh came through the receiver, breathless and stilted. “ _No, but I might have a concussion_.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“ _A concussion. I– I’m not–_ ”

“I heard you the first time!” Gyro snapped, shoving down the thrill of panic that washed up from his gut. “What the hell happened?”

“ _Well–_ ”

“No, never mind, just tell me where you are,” Gyro was already shoving his feet into shoes and grabbing for his keys; it was lucky he was at home and not at the lab – he’d have been nowhere near his car, then.

“ _Somewhere on, uh… 15 th Street, I think? Maybe,_” Cabrera said, voice going distant, as if he had pulled away from his phone.

“You _think_?” Gyro huffed, grabbing for Lil’ Bulb and stowing him on his shoulder before exiting his apartment.

“ _I’m pretty sure. I’m sorry, my head just_ hurts _,_ ” Cabrera groaned.

Right, concussion. Gyro reached his car and placed Lil’ Bulb in the passenger seat before putting his phone on speaker and handing it over to the little bot. “Look, just… stay put, Cabrera,” Gyro said, starting his beat-up old car. “I’ll find you.”

There was a heart-stuttering pause before Cabrera answered, soft and tired. “ _Okay_.”

-/-/-

Finding Cabrera, bloodied and bruised and sitting against the wall of an alleyway, was one of the more distressing things Gyro had been treated to in his life.

“ _Shit_ ,” Gyro hissed, dropping to his knees beside Cabrera.

Cabrera, a bit hazy but decently alert, gave him a rueful sort of half-smile. “Sorry for bothering you. I just… needed help,” he glanced down at his phone, still clutched in his hand. “You were the first person I thought of.”

Gyro couldn’t fathom why on earth Cabrera thought _he_ was the best choice for emergency medical assistance or transport, rather than his mother the _police detective_ or an _ambulance_ , but he wasn’t about to get into it now. “What did you _do_?” He asked instead.

Cabrera licked his lips; the bottom one was split and still bleeding sluggishly down his chin, and it looked like he’d tried to wipe some of it away on the back of his arm. “Someone was getting mugged,” Cabrera said.

“ _And_?”

“And I had to help,” Cabrera said, as thought it was obvious, staring at Gyro with incredulous, unfocused eyes.

“By yourself? With your injuries? Without _the suit_ –”

“I don’t have the suit!”

“I know!” Gyro barked. “And that was supposed to keep you from doing idiotic shit like this!”

“I – what?” Cabrera’s brows drew together in confusion, trying to parse what Gyro had said.

“Never mind,” Gyro said quickly. “Let’s just get you to a hospital.”

In the light provided by Lil’ Bulb, who had taken up a somewhat distracting residence on top of Gyro’s head, Gyro gave Cabrera a quick once-over: one cheek was already coloring into a massive bruise, his lip was split, his clothes were mussed, and he was holding himself awkwardly against the grimy wall, sitting with one arm wrapped around his midsection.

“If I get you up, will you make it to my car, or do I need to call an ambulance?” Gyro asked, uncertain which option he was hoping for.

“An ambulance feels a little excessive. My legs are fine, it’s just the rest of me that’s in horrible pain,” Cabrera gave a breath of a laugh. “If you help me up, I can walk.”

It was awkward going, pulling Cabrera up off the ground; he wasn’t tall, but he was sturdily-built, and Gyro relied primarily on his superior height to provide him with leverage as he tried to hoist Cabrera up without hurting him further. Eventually the two of them managed an upright position, Cabrera’s right arm slung around Gyro’s middle while his left stayed curled around his ribs, Gyro supporting him with a careful hand under his left arm and Lil’ Bulb clinging to Gyro’s hair through the turbulence.

They made the short, shuffling walk to Gyro’s car and got Cabrera buckled in before taking off for the hospital.

There were a dozen scathing comments and half a dozen more angry rants sitting in the back of Gyro’s throat, but he swallowed them down – mostly because he wasn’t the best driver to begin with, and it was even more difficult to drive while screaming (so he’d learned), but a little bit because he wasn’t sure how to handle Cabrera at the moment. He wasn’t the aloof assistant he’d been playing recently, but he still wasn’t what Gyro was used to. He simply sat in the passenger seat, quiet and distant, leaving all the questions and criticisms Gyro had to wither and die before he could voice them.

Only when Gyro had resigned himself to an entirely silent drive did Cabrera speak.

“I think you saved my life.”

“What?” Forgetting himself for a moment, Gyro cast a startled glance at Cabrera before pulling his eyes back to the road. “If I hadn’t picked up, you would’ve just called someone else. You’d have been fine.”

“No, I mean – do you remember the app you put out a while ago? The Gearloose Zapp?”

How could he forget? It had been one of his more ill-fated forays into programming; an app that would deliver a mild electrical shock to unverified users to deter potential thieves. Unfortunately, the mild shock had malfunctioned into more of a massive one and the app had been pulled pretty quickly.

“What about it?”

“I downloaded it, back when it was still available. I thought it was such a neat idea, and I was disappointed when they stopped supporting it,” Cabrera admitted.

Gyro hummed. “Well, there was that… _incident_ with that person’s pacemaker,” he paused, fully considering what Cabrera was saying. “Are you telling me you still have the app on your phone?”

“Well, I, uh, modded it a little, to get it to keep working, but yeah. And once I’d…” Cabrera paused for a moment, his voice coming back more quietly, “I distracted the mugger long enough for his victim to get away, so he decided to take his frustration out on me. And take my stuff. But once he grabbed my phone, he got quite a _shock_.”

Gyro nearly rolled his eyes, but supposed if Cabrera was making terrible jokes then he couldn’t be too badly off. “So… the app actually worked?” Gyro asked, some tiny, fuzzy thrill of fondness sparking somewhere in him at the idea that Cabrera had worked hard to keep his defunct app running. “I mean, of course it _worked_ , I knew it would work, it’s just that it got yanked from the app store so quickly I didn’t really get any positive feedback on it.”

“Worked like a charm, Gyro,” Cabrera mumbled, sounding very much like he did right before he nodded off at his desk, casual namedrop and all.

Maybe Gyro wasn’t an expert in first aid, but he was fairly certain people with concussions weren’t supposed to fall asleep.

“ _Cabrera_ ,” Gyro said sharply, chancing another glance over.

Cabrera jerked, grunting slightly in surprise.

“Tell me how you modded my app,” Gyro ordered. “I want to know what you changed.”

“Oh… not much,” Cabrera said, the words sliding together lazily.

“Not good enough. Be more specific.”

With an indistinct grumble, Cabrera began to explain; Gyro paid him only enough mind to ask questions that kept him alert, keeping the rest of his attention on the road until they reached the hospital.

Gyro was only too happy to hand Cabrera off to the staff when they arrived, but his night didn’t feel over yet. He parked himself in one of the uncomfortable padded chairs and settled in with Lil’ Bulb to wait.

He still had to give Cabrera a piece of his mind, he reasoned.

-/-/-

“You’re an idiot.”

It wasn’t Gyro’s best insult, but, in his defense, he’d been awake for an ungodly amount of time and the hospital coffee was doing jack to keep him alert.

“I know.”

Cabrera blinked muzzily over at Gyro, somehow resigned even though he’d only been awake for two minutes.

“Do you? Really?” Gyro asked. “I don’t think you do.”

Cabrera sighed. “I _know_ it was stupid. Reckless. Idiotic. My m’ma already read me the riot act on this one, Gy–” Cabrera paused, shook his head slowly against his pillow. “Dr. Gearloose. You don’t have to waste your energy.”

“If you know all of that, why did you do it anyway? Why couldn’t you just – I don’t know, call the police, like a normal person?” Gyro huffed.

He just didn’t understand. He’d stopped Cabrera from being Gizmoman to lessen his chances of injury, and yet Cabrera still went around acting as though he was wearing an advanced suit of armor. How was he supposed to compensate for natural, stubborn stupidity?

“Because the police wouldn’t have gotten there in time. Do you know how many stories I’ve heard from my m’ma and her partner and other officers about getting to a scene too late? Someone was getting mugged right _there_ ,” Cabrera gave a jerking sort of gesture and winced as it pulled on one injury or another. “And… I was also right there. I was able to do something, so I did.”

“You got the ever-loving shit beat out of you is what you did. You’re not Gizmoman anymore, Cabrera,” Gyro snapped.

“But I… I am,” Cabrera said quietly. “I know I don’t have the suit anymore, but Gizmoman isn’t _just_ the suit. _I’m_ Gizmoman, and I – I might’ve been trying to prove that to you and Mr. McDuck. Prove that I was worth having the suit… and your trust.”

Oh god. Gyro hated heartfelt speeches. He hated listening to them and he _hated_ when—rarely, oh-so-rarely—they made him feel something. Gyro slouched down in the visitor’s chair that had been positioned by Cabrera’s bed, watching dully as Lil’ Bulb fiddled with the tie of the “Get Well” balloon Launchpad had dropped off earlier in the day.

“Cabrera…” Gyro said slowly, eyes still pointed away. “Mr. McDuck didn’t order you off the project. I made the decision on my own.”

When Gyro chanced a look over, Cabrera’s eyes had gone wide. “You – but you can’t–”

“I _know_. I did it anyway.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Cabrera’s question was so plaintive, poking at the soft spot Gyro hadn’t even realized was there until very recently.

“Because _you_ kept damaging yourself,” Gyro growled. “Because, believe it or not, I don’t actually want you to _die_.”

There was quiet for a moment, the background noise of the hospital filtering in.

“Gyro… I’m not going to die,” Cabrera said softly.

“You don’t know that, though! You _might_ , and _I_ would be responsible, because you’re out there wearing _my_ invention. It wouldn’t matter that _you_ were the one who decided to go out there like a complete imbecile and play hero, you would be doing it in something _I_ made and – and I – I couldn’t–” Gyro’s rant petered out, the reality of his confession hitting him. “I couldn’t handle it.”

Silence fell over the room, dismal and smothering.

“This is stupid,” Gyro muttered. “Forget what I said.”

Lil’ Bulb was now hovering up near the ceiling, hanging tight to the string of the balloon it’d managed to untie, and Gyro made a grab for it, prepared to take the whole balloon if it meant getting out of the room quickly.

“Gyro,” Cabrera said as Gyro made for the door. “Gyro, stop!”

“ _What?_ ” Gyro wheeled around, scowling at Cabrera.

Cabrera was undeterred. “It wouldn’t be your fault.”

Gyro scoffed. “Maybe not _entirely_. You’re the one who decided to fight _villains_ or some nonsense crap like that. But I enabled you.”

“Well, so did Mr. McDuck. He hired me to be Gizmoman,” Cabrera gave a twitch of a shrug, sitting forward in the hospital bed. “My m’ma’s enabling it – vigilantism is illegal, but she’s turning a blind eye to the fact that it’s me. But above all that, it’s _my_ decision. My choice. Not your fault.”

“It’s _my_ invention–”

“Sorry to tell you, Gyro, but not everything is about you,” there was a glint of humor in Cabrera’s eyes as he spoke, the words not unkind, but they snapped at Gyro’s nerves anyway.

“Oh, is that so?” Gyro drawled.

“Yep,” Cabrera smirked. “Besides, I’ve worked on the Gizmosuit almost as much as you have at this point; we can probably call it ours.”

Gyro actually snorted at that, shaking his head. “Don’t think you can take liberties just because you’re injured, Cabrera. The armor was _my_ idea.”

“Well, it’s done a pretty good job of keeping me alive so far, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, look what happens when I try to help people without the armor,” Cabrera gestured vaguely at himself, at the hospital room in general. “When I was wearing the suit, it was months before I was hurt badly enough to need a hospital. It took about a week and a half for me to land myself back here without it.”

“That’s… true,” Gyro allowed.

“Please, Gyro, just… have a little faith that I can do this,” Cabrera turned big, earnest eyes on Gyro. “I won’t let you down.”

Some part of Gyro still screeched and resisted, still remembered what it was like to be alone in the lab and didn’t want to go back to emptiness and quiet now that it knew something else. Some part of Gyro didn’t want to be convinced, didn’t want Cabrera to go back out there, didn’t want to lose anything or anyone.

Some other part of Gyro, however, knew things couldn’t go on this way, with Cabrera constantly trying to prove himself and Gyro constantly trying to make him stop. It wasn’t sustainable, it wasn’t logical.

(Some other part of Gyro, still, really didn’t want to have to find a stranger to pilot the Gizmosuit. At least he knew Cabrera and could trust him with it. Sort of. More or less.)

“Well,” Gyro drew the word out, still a bit reticent, “if you plan on continuing to do stupid shit like this anyway, I suppose I can at least provide the proper tools and protection…”

Cabrera lit up like a Tesla coil, electric and catching. “Really?”

Gyro grunted his affirmative, returning to the visitor’s chair and releasing Lil’ Bulb, who floated back up to the ceiling while shaking its fist at Gyro for detaining it in the first place.

“Thank you, Gyro!” Cabrera grinned on until something occurred to him that had the smile dropping off his face. “Sorry, I’ve been – uh, thank you, Dr. Gearloose.”

“Oh, never mind that,” Gyro huffed with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve been saying it enough, just call me Gyro already.”

The smile came back, smaller, but still bright. “Well, then… maybe you can just call me Fenton?”

Gyro bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the spread of the little, amused smirk that wanted to come out. “Maybe I can,” he granted.

Cabrera – _ahem_ – Fenton continued to smile at Gyro, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking.

-/-/-

It was some weeks before Fenton was cleared for “strenuous activity,” though the time was cut rather shorter than most doctors might have preferred at both Mr. McDuck’s and Fenton’s insistence.

“Never let a little problem like a cracked rib or a concussion or a dislocated shoulder stop me!” Mr. McDuck had claimed.

Fenton was simply eager to get back on the streets, having been anxiously watching the news and catching every little problem he could have helped with. Gyro had taken to turning off any current events channels as a matter of habit, if only so Fenton would stop moping around the lab.

Gyro and Fenton had used the time to repair the Gizmosuit, fitting it with new gadgets and reinforcing a few weak points while they were at it.

(Still, no matter how much Fenton worked on it, no matter how much input he had, the suit would always be _Gyro’s_ creation.)

By the time Fenton was preparing for his first patrol after the fiasco at the bank, the Gizmosuit was primed and polished and ready for action. Evening dawned (prime time for lunatics to go around robbing jewelry stores or staging museum heists or whatever other weirdness Fenton was about to go put a stop to) and Fenton stood before the suit, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waiting for Gyro’s say-so.

Gyro deliberately took his time in ordering his desk and picking up his tablet, waiting for the moment Fenton began to frown at him impatiently before he swept a magnanimous arm at the suit. “Well, go ahead.”

The words “blathering blatherskite” had never left someone’s mouth so quickly (nor so needlessly loud, Gyro decided).

In a rush of static and metal, Gizmoman was standing before Gryo, a broad and absolutely un-hero-like grin spread across his face.

“I am _Gizmoman_!” Fenton declared.

Gyro rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, we’re all very proud you remember your name. Now,” he pulled the Project Blatherskite specs up on his tablet, “reflex tests before you go.”

The suit visibly slouched with Fenton’s disappointment. “Aw, c’mon, Gyro, it’s almost–”

“Ah, ah, ah! _Reflex tests_. You promised to help me ensure the Gizmosuit is running at optimal levels at all times and you haven’t worn it in weeks. You’re doing them,” Gyro ordered flatly.

Fenton took a deep breath, standing back to attention. “You’re right. I promised. Reflex tests,” he nodded.

“Good. Besides,” Gyro murmured, head bent over the tablet, “they won’t take that long.”

Fenton said nothing, but Gyro could see him start to smile in his peripheral vision all the same.

They ran through the tests in quick succession, the suit performing without a hitch, and Gyro could find no reason to delay the inevitable.

“Well, then. Are you ready, _Gizmoman?_ ”

“You bet, _Dr. Danger_.”

“No.”

“Dr. Luminescent?”

“ _No_.”

“Dr. Death Ray!”

“What am I, a supervillain? Fenton–”

“How about: Dr. Gearsome!”

“N- _what?_ ”

“You know, like fearsome, but… gear. Like… your name?”

“Lord help me,” Gyro pinched the bridge of his nose. “No codenames!”

Fenton was, predictably, undeterred. “I’ll come up with a good one eventually. You’ll see!”

“Fenton, get out of here before I change my mind and decide to disassemble the suit,” Gyro griped, swatting at Fenton irritably.

It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but Fenton was learning how to pick at least some of his battles, and just gave Gyro an excited little salute.

“Alright! I’ll see you after patrol!”

“In one piece,” Gyro added pointedly.

“Of course. Absolutely. In at least one piece!” Fenton called back as he headed for the lab’s surface exit.

“What? No! One piece _only_ , Fenton!” Gyro shouted after him, receiving no reply. “ _Cabrera_!”

Irritably, Gyro considered paging Fenton over the helmet, but decided not to bother. Whatever Fenton got himself into, Gyro knew he’d be there at the other end of it. He could yell then, if he wanted.

All the same, his mind began to cook up improved hazard sensors for the suit, a better defense system, more accurate missiles – perhaps a retractable shield?

Gyro pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil, humming a little as he worked, and settled in to wait for Fenton to come back from patrol.


End file.
